


Each of Us Is Broken, Always and Forever

by hithelleth



Category: The Originals (TV), Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, M/M, Multi, Sibling Incest, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-01-21 00:07:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1530728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hithelleth/pseuds/hithelleth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Less a family now than a volatile mix of ingredients, each of them is broken, maybe damaged beyond repair. But when you have lived a millennium, always and forever has a different meaning and perhaps now it is, once again, time for a new story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Bastard Son

**Author's Note:**

> This picks up off the final Elijah & Klaus scene in 1 x 16 “Farewell to Storyville”, but goes largely AU-ish from there on. Obviously, I don’t own _The Originals_ , no copyright infringement intended.

“Good evening.”

Elijah, ever so well-mannered.

This you have to see. You stop in the middle of the stairs, leaning against the rail.

“I trust I need no introduction.”

You half-tune out the scene unfolding before your eyes, thus distancing yourself to a position of an analyst, so you don’t miss the smallest detail you could use to your advantage, to prove or disprove the intent behind what is being said and done. 

“…this was once my family home… I’m taking it back. Your privileges here have been revoked… you're hereby exiled…”

Such fervour. Such _belief_ in what dear brother is saying. Yes, undoubtedly, Elijah is sincere. At this moment.

 _You can’t out-sarcasm yourself, Niklaus_ , you remind yourself, your accent changing to Elijah’s in your head.

If Elijah turns against you yet again, you will more likely than not have none but yourself to blame.

“… I will grant you this one mercy… a trace of you in the French quarter, it will not end well for you…”

Such well-spoken, composed threats. Such a commanding presence. Such a _turn-on_.

“That is all. Run along.”

The riff-raff slinking away gives you a chance to collect your wits, though your voice is a shade too gravelly when you speak.

“Nicely done, brother. You're beginning to sound like me. I'm impressed.”

Elijah looks up and stands right before you as quickly as you can snap your fingers.

“Niklaus.” He pauses, his eyes boring into yours. “This is it. You and I.” He motions between the two of you to emphasise his words. “No betrayals this time, no backstabbing. We’ll take this city back. For us. For our sister. For our family.”

Nothing either of you haven’t said before. Always meant it. So many times dishonoured it like a bunch of lies.

And yet you don’t break the gaze.

“For our family,” you echo.

“Brother.” Elijah opens his arms, so you can step closer, so he can crush you in them – though he just holds you tight; so you can crumple against him – mentally, because physically you manage to simply hug him back.

Your cock, which grew hard during the earlier scene, strains against the fabric of your jeans, pressing into Elijah and you stiffen for a moment, expecting being inevitably shoved away, seeing disgust on Elijah’s face, although you know better than that from centuries of experience; but that deep engraved fear of wrongness, of rejection never fails to surface, let alone after everything that has happened in the last few days. After all you are… _a monster, an abomination, embarrassment… pathetic, burden…_

Your back slams into a hard surface – Elijah must have sped the both of you in the upper floor hallway, just down from your rooms.

He makes a step back, keeping his hands on your shoulders, studying your face. It’s a courtesy he gives you, a choice, as if you need one, as if you ever needed one. You appreciate it, still, having control handed over. And you take it, slamming Elijah into the opposite wall, crushing his mouth with yours, because it’s been too long. Decades with him plotting your demise, believing your lie about killing all your siblings, all these years of struggle for vengeance and power… all this time empty without Elijah, Rebekah…

_An abomination, worse than father has ever thought, getting hard for your brother, your sister…_

Elijah lets you have your way for a little while, his hands tangling in your hair and clothes, strong and comforting, and when he takes charge again, you surrender without resistance because you don’t need control, not with Elijah; you’re safe with him, safe to submit to his hands on you, all over you, his tongue claiming every last corner of your mouth…

He’s gone.

You stare, beyond confused, can’t get enough air into your lungs – though you don’t need it – as if you’ve just been punched in the gut.

Just when you begin forming thoughts of a terrible, cruel play, he’s back, manhandling you into the dining room, since the bedrooms appear to be too far away.

He pins you against the dining table, setting something aside, and it clicks.

“I’m not that breakable…” you try to object.

He makes quick work of your belt and pants, shoving you backwards on the table, leaving you exposed, at his mercy, as he picks up the little bottle.

“…heal fast,” you are babbling now, his hands on you too distracting for you to sound coherent, let alone as sarcastic and detached you’d like to and you don’t give a damn.

“I know,” Elijah’s reply is soft and the way he looks at you… Of course, he knows, but he doesn’t want to _hurt_ you, not even for a minute, not right now, that is, and that is what makes your head swim.

Well, that and his fingers inside you... and you’re taken a thousand years back.

_They don’t know you’re there, Rebekah backed against the old willow round the river bend, her dress gathered up at her waist, Elijah’s hand between her legs..._

_Rebekah’s breathing is hitched, getting faster and faster, her cheeks flushed. She bites her lips to silence her moans as pleasure wrecks her body and she trembles, caught between the tree and Elijah. Before long she slumps against the old willow, panting._

_Elijah says something against her parted lips, too quietly for you to hear, before withdrawing his hand. He licks his fingers clean and tugs her dress down, exchanging a look with her – a look full of unspoken tenderness and love and secrets, which makes you jealous – before he walks away._

Elijah’s fingers are gone and you are left wanting for a few seconds before he replaces them with his cock, burying himself balls deep inside you, nudging that spot that makes you see stars. He restrains your hands above your head as he thrusts into you, his fangs nipping at your lips, grazing along your jawline and throat, the little wounds closing almost as soon as they open.

_Someday Rebekah breathes your name past her kiss-swollen lips while you discover the slick tight heath inside her… and time and again later._

_You’ve set her free, your sweet sister with golden hair and musical laughter… the laughter you’ve smothered, turned into tears so many times, perhaps one time too many for her to forgive you, to return, though the very thought of her not ever coming back is too much to bear…_

No, no, don’t think about Bekah, not now. Later you can surrender to that pain – the pain you caused her, the pain you suffer yourself – like she deserves, like _you_ deserve.

Now focus on this moment: Elijah’s fangs sinking into your neck, sending a shockwave straight to your leaking cock and Elijah finally touches it, stroking, sucking from your jugular and pounding into you all in sync and you can’t do anything but hold on, spiralling down, down – or, actually, soaring up, up, still needing something…

“Elijah, please...” you’re begging, unable to specify what.

Elijah knows. He lets go of you to make a cut on his neck for you with his fingernail, though you could have more easily done it yourself, but it’s so much better when it’s his offer.

You latch onto the open wound, your hands finally free to tangle in his hair, his shirt collar.

Droplets of his blood on your tongue, his hand rough on your cock as he thrusts into you still more forcefully, the other digging into your hip, holding you in place, and you’re done, coming into his hand and your world is reduced to the taste of the red liquid in your mouth and Elijah and your cock twitching in his hand and him moving inside you, throbbing and filling you, all of you, and this moment is everything.

Moments pass too fast, and no matter how reluctant both of you seem to part, you soon do, nonetheless.

After you’ve tucked yourself in – not enough to cover a mess that you are – you meet his eyes, wary again, now that the reality is coming back to you, not sure what you will find there. But it’s Elijah, at first glance as elegant and collected as ever.

He zips up and straightens his suit, his _stained_ suit – a reminder that you ruin everything, everyone you touch.

He returns your look, then gives himself a once over.

“I'd better go change.”

It's such an Elijah-like remark you would laugh, but you swallow it down and perch back on the dining table as he strolls out of the room, and you make a note of the underlying affection in his tone and a glint of mischief in his eyes, and something else that tells you that you are not the only one left wrecked beneath the exterior. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write a related story from Rebekah’s perspective but that bastard Klaus sneaked in and stole it all for himself. ;) I still intend to write Rebekah’s POV/some sort of a sequel, and probably Elijah’s, too. So, possibly two more chapters, if/when I have time & inspiration. But I think I’ll wait a while to see what happens on the show, although this is AU, but maybe I will tie it in a little.
> 
> What do you think? Good? Bad?


	2. Quick to Laugh and Fall in Love

You laugh into the face of the wind combing through your hair and turn up the music.

_“What is it you want, Rebekah?”_

_“Same things that I've wanted since I was a child. I want a home. I want a family. I want someone to love me, and I want to live.”_

_“Then go. Go far away and never come back… You, sister, you are free.”_

Elijah chose to stay and that is all right; Nik needs him more than he needs you. Marcel put his city — _your_ city, first, and you are really not the kind of girl who likes to share. Not this time.

So, you go.

You drive across the country and enjoy yourself. You make new friends and laugh and almost fall in love.

And you don’t look over your shoulders.

All too soon, though, being free starts weighing on you and you tire of the blankness the present without the ties to the past offers. When you get homesick for what you know down to the core, for those who know _you_ down to the core, you answer the pull and return.

The compound echoes of emptiness as you haul the suitcases through the inner court and up the stairs, but it is tidy enough that whatever kind of disaster might have struck while you were gone, it must have been recent.

You drop your luggage in the family room.

“Typical,” you murmur. No one to greet you and a potential rescue mission for one or both of your brothers awaiting. “Bloody hell.”

“Rebekah?”

You turn to see Elijah standing in the doorway; he looks just fine — that is all you can take in before you run to him. He meets you half-way and hugs you tightly, and for a moment you don’t concern yourself with Nik, because Elijah is alive and well and here.

_Elijah doesn_ _’t yell when he drags Rykard off of you, telling him to get lost and keep quiet or else. Nor does he yell when he finds you curled up at the foot of the old willow behind the river bend._

_You wish he would, but it is you who raises voice, humiliated and beyond mortified, when Elijah asks what you were thinking._

_“I wanted to know how it feels with someone I like, not someone Father will choose for me! And it wasn’t even worth it!”_

_You burst into tears, having said too much, and Elijah pulls you in a hug. He wipes off your tears with his thumbs and strokes your hair and places tender kisses on your temple and your cheek —_

_The corners of your lips touch and you both still._

_You shouldn_ _’t._

_It is_ wrong _._

_Yet, your heartbeat picks up quite differently than earlier with Rykard._

_Your eyes lock with Elijah_ _’s and you barely dare move as not to ruin everything as you breathe a plea against his lips: “’Lijah.”_

_Then his lips are fire upon yours, his fingers leave burning marks on your skin, and when he reaches between your folds, you need both him and the old tree for support because your legs melt at his touch and, oh, god_ _…_

“Well, well. The prodigal sister returns.” Klaus’ voice, his tone that of pretended nonchalance you know very well, breaks you out of the memory.

You extricate yourself from Elijah’s embrace, already missing his proximity, although he stays close, solid comfort beside you. 

“Nik.”

“Bekah.”

You eye him warily, but he makes puppy eyes at you, only half in mockery: “What? I don’t get a hug?”

“Depends,” you respond in the same tone. “Will I get a dagger in my back?”

Nik tsks, placing his hand on his chest as if you offended him, then slowly turns around, spreading his arms: “See? No daggers.”

He gives you his most innocent look and you can’t help but smile even as you roll your eyes at his antics and cross the distance.

His hug is awkward, almost shy. Vulnerable.

Your heart gets the better of you and you squeeze him harder — bygones be bygones and all that crap he likes to say — until he relaxes and hugs you back properly, resting his cheek against yours.

“Welcome home, sister.”

You sigh into his shoulder, staying in his arms just a little longer.

After you pull apart, he enquires: “So, back to stay?”

“I don’t know. Am I?” you challenge.

Nik’s reply is unexpectedly soft: “I meant it when I said that you’re free, Bekah; free to stay, free to go…” He trails off.

It is not exactly what he said, but you let it pass.

The three of you linger in silence, lost, together and apart at once, studying each other. You sense some sort of delight under Nik’s broody surface, a hint of amusement behind Elijah’s perfect composure.

There is something else, something you can’t quite put a finger on, not until you see their eyes meet, however briefly. And then you _know_.

 _Bloody hell_ , you think.

Out loud you ask: “You haven’t let my room out, have you?” You don’t wait for an answer but pick up your bags. “Good. I’m going to unpack and wash off the road dust, and then we shall see.”

You hear Nik scoff after you leave them — “Our sister has it all figured out, doesn’t she?” — and Elijah admonish him, his tone light and humorous.

They sound happy.

It is no surprise then, when you later come to Elijah’s room, to find Nik there as well.

Elijah is reading, propped against the headboard, a stack of papers on the bed beside him, while Nik sprawls on his back, staring at the ceiling with his hands clasped behind his head, most likely plotting murder and mischief.

At the uncanny domesticity of the scene you are overcome by a sudden urge to take a run and throw yourself on the bed between them, sending Elijah’s documents flying through the air as you bounce off of the mattress, giggling.

“Rebekah!” Nik scolds. “You’ve messed up our brother’s very important papers!”

Elijah chuckles as he collects the items in question and puts them aside. “I can put my papers in order just fine, but thank you for your concern, Niklaus.”

“You are, as always, too indulgent of our sister’s whims, Elijah.” Nik remarks, his disapproval sounding but half-hearted as you protest — ”Hey!” — and kick him in the shin.

“Niklaus, if my memory serves me right, Rebekah is not the only one whose whims I tend to indulge,” Elijah counters as he joins them.

Nik scowls, but refrains from responding.

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath; it — the house and them— smells like home. Thunder roars in the distance. You exhale, smiling, and turn to face Nik, his features dark against the lightning that strikes outside.

_The lightning frightens you no longer, not when your gown is soaked with blood, yours and your lover’s and others’, screams and curses vanishing behind you as you run through the storm._

_You had been careless, caught in the throes of lovemaking with your fangs in a young man’s jugular, one you ripped out when a stake — not well aimed, fortunately — sank between your ribs._

_Nik, for once, doesn’t reproach you for your foolishness as is his wont. He strips you of what is left of your garments, carries you into a warm bath, and cradles you in his arms while you cry until you fall asleep._

There is certain serenity — more pronounced than you have seen in a long time — about Nik that draws you closer and prompts you to press your lips upon his just like you did then, long ago.

_The following morning is warm and sunny, the world washed of its filth after the rain, and Nik’s lips and hands erase the memories of the night’s dread and replace them with sweet bliss — for a while._

Tonight you know better, you all do: there is no undoing of the hurt you have inflicted upon each other and the memories of it will always stay. The movements of your bodies, entangled and bared to one another not unlike your souls, are acts of atonement, nonetheless.

Nik’s hands tremble when he pulls you to him, his kiss hesitant, allowing you the merest glimpse of the fear and guilt that haunt him. You melt away his barriers with your touch, encouraged by Elijah’s patient confidence, the feeling of his hands and lips on you matching that of yours on Nik.

You relearn each other, peeling off your clothes without hurry, relishing every inch of skin brushing against skin, as if the three of you were a quilt that has fallen apart and needs precise, careful stitching back together until it is whole and beautiful again. And the pleasure that at last wrecks your bodies is as bright and blazing as the noon sun in New Orleans summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse for this taking me more than a year to continue. I wrote some of it last summer and autumn, then got a writer’s block and was slowly piecing it together through winter and spring and when it was done I couldn’t tell how I feel about it so I let is sit for quite a while in my folders. But this week I decided to give it another go and found out it only needed some polishing, so I did that, and voilà. 
> 
> (P. S.: I changed the summary to fit the story better and I am planning to finish this story with a chapter from Elijah’s POV, but at this pace it may take me another year, though hopefully it happens sooner.)
> 
> What do you think? Good? Bad?


	3. A Mask of Civility and Eloquence

In the morning light Rebekah and Niklaus, curled around each other, are an image of golden children of dawn if there has ever been one.

Smirking at such a poetic thought, you press a kiss upon Rebekah’s shoulder.

The faintest change in her breathing signifies she is about to wake up, and you slip your fingers over her skin, down her back, and past the curve of her hip, deciding you might just as well make it a truly good morning.

 _here is a slew of emotions warring inside you: an aftertaste of burning protectiveness when you had caught her with that_ boy _, possessiveness, jealousy, anger, and, at last, sympathy when she tells you to leave her alone._

_You can’t, kissing the hot tears spilling from her eyes off of her cheeks instead._

_Her lips under yours are soft and sweet and forbidden. But then she breathes your name like a plea and you can’t deny her. She melts in your arms, pliant and fiery at once, and you make her come undone with your fingers without ever looking away from her face._

_Ambrosia must taste of sin, you think, when you lick your fingers clean. And in that moment, with the way she looks at you, you could easily believe yourself to be a god worshipped by a goddess as you whisper a warning — and a promise — against her lips: “And that is, sister, approximately how it feels to have a man inside you._ ”

At breakfast Rebekah sits next to Hayley as the three of you bring her up to speed with recent events.

“Those wretched hags!” she exclaims when she learns of the witches plotting the child’s death.

“Don’t worry, little one, no one is going to get to you past Auntie Bex.” She places her hand on the swell of Hayley’s belly, speaking to the baby, and you can’t help yourself but envy her the easy closeness.

_“Do you think I do not notice you and Hayley looking at each other? My brother and the woman carrying my child!”_

_You’ve been expecting Niklaus’ reproach for weeks, months even. There is nothing to deny; you are guilty. You still meet his eyes, though._

_“I let her in,” you say, “I don’t let people in, but I let her in.”_

_Other words are left unsaid: of resentment and betrayal, and of understanding, as well._

_“Now, that’s not entirely true, is it, brother?” Klaus taunts. “You have let a few others in.”_

_“So I have,” you confess._

_“Or, perhaps it’s not you who has always been after mine, perhaps it is me who has yearned after yours,” Klaus challenges._

_“What if it was both?”_

_“Maybe,” Klaus allows._

_You sink into silence while Niklaus paces the room, then comes to a halt, turning to you, and scoffs: “Oh, do not torture yourself, Elijah. The heart wants what the heart wants.”_

The look Niklaus shoots you brings back that conversation you had not long ago, but he does not comment on it, making a quip in answer to Rebekah instead.

Hearing them banter warms your heart, the familiar voices full of sarcasm hiding so much love underneath.

You have been here before, the three of you, time and again, the boundaries between what you are to each other — siblings, lovers, best friends, mortal enemies — having become blurred over the centuries.

This, the part where you are lovers, has never been exclusive, as it is not now, for there have always been others. Boys Rebekah would fall hopelessly in love with. And women who deserved better than Niklaus and you, especially those who managed to capture the attention of both of you, the ones you fought over and ruined.

You wonder whether it is a whim of a twisted fate that has Rebekah picking your and — or mostly — Klaus’ friends and/or protégées just like it warrants you and Klaus choosing dark-haired women, the opposites of your sister, too many a time both going for the same one as if searching for a connection to bring you closer, a link that at the same time tears you apart.

_“I love her!”_

_You try not to flinch as Niklaus screams in your face._

_“I know.”_

_“Yes, you knew that and yet you… Can’t I have anything for myself?! Of course not, I, the bastard brother, why would I deserve to love or be loved when I am an outcast in my own family… You, my own brother would usurp me! How could you, Elijah?!”_

_You don’t point out that it is the other way around, that you were the first to court Tatia, that if anyone is the usurper it is he. Neither you fight back, merely defending yourself against Niklaus’ strikes while he spews profanities at you, his voice hoarse from screaming and the pain of betrayal and loss, and the latter hurts you more than his hits._

_He fists his hands into your shirt, shaking you, and from this close you can see tears welling in his eyes._

_Trying to back away, you trip over a tree root, pulling him with you as you fall. He lands on top of you and continues throwing punches even as you beg him to stop, to think. You roll over the uneven ground in an attempt to get free of him, but he doesn’t let go, rolling with you._

_It is perhaps a foreboding of the monsters you are yet to become, your fighting on the forest floor, grunting and snarling, spitting accusations at each other. Then the next moment Klaus’ mouth is upon yours, biting, cruel, desperate. His fists are no longer striking; instead his fingers dig into your skin as if he wants to crawl underneath._

_You make a move to push him off, but end up with your fingers twisted in his hair, holding him closer as you feel him harden against your hip and your own cock responds in the same manner._

_Afterwards, your rational thoughts become hazy, instinct taking over as you grope and rut against each other, hissing and panting in between breaks from brutal, bloody kisses. It is you who gets a hold of both of your cocks in the end, stroking you off mercilessly, shaking from both the fight and the emotions — lust only one of those — running high in the both of you._

_Spent at last, Niklaus ends up sobbing into your shirt._

_“There, now you see, brother, what a true bastard I am. What a despicable, perverted monster. You must be disgusted with me. Now even will you turn me away.”_

_“No, never,” you promise — for how could you, in the face of your own depravity, if that is what this is —  even as you are trying to wrap your mind around your own feelings, and you hold him still more tightly._

The sound of laughter brings you back to the present.

Hayley and Rebekah are giggling at something that has even Niklaus chucking along, before he turns his attention to you.

“There he is! Why so pensive, Elijah? Pray do tell.”

You sigh, pretending to find his teasing uncalled for.

“Well, somebody has to do the thinking around here,” you return with a smirk, deeming it is high time to lighten the mood. Granted, it is your mood that needs to be lightened, not anyone else’s, as it seems.

Klaus grins, rolling his eyes.

“How fortunate for us you are willing to sacrifice yourself to that cause!”

You shake your head, at loss for response. Niklaus doesn’t expect it, anyway, jumping right back into the middle of something Rebekah is saying about shopping for baby things.

You content yourself with watching and listening, while a lump forms in your throat.

This is not the end of a fairy-tale, that you know. There might be no happily-ever-after for you, for any of you.

However, even though it might be doomed to come to nothing, hope swells inside you.

You, Klaus, and Rebekah may very well be damaged, but you don’t believe it is beyond repair. Perhaps you can fix each other, for your own sakes and for the sakes of those you love and who love you.

Hayley and her daughter, the child all of you will defend to your last breaths. Marcellus, whom, you are fairly sure, Rebekah is not done with quite yet, or vice versa. Camille, a friend — at least that — to Klaus, one he so desperately needs.

You watch them: Rebekah cooing to the baby as she kicks, Hayley positively glowing, and Niklaus looking more at peace with himself and the world than you have ever seen.

Your heart feels raw with love for them. And that love, you know that as well, will never go away, not entirely, no matter what happens, but remain, as the three of you shall remain together, always and forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, it is finished! Finally, with Elijah's POV.
> 
> I had it finished before the last episode (3x09) and it only needed some final polishing and I thought this would be a good time to get it done and post it, since we needed some happiness after the last episode. 
> 
> Please, tell me what you think. Comments are always welcome and very much appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always welcome.


End file.
